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This is the Hollywood “Brat Pack.” It is to the 1980s what the Rat Pack was to the 1960s—a roving band of famous young stars on the prowl for parties, women, and a good time. And just like Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Peter Lawford, and Sammy Davis Jr., these guys work together, too—they’ve carried their friendships over from life into the movies. They make major movies with big directors and get fat contracts and limousines. They have top agents and protective P.R. people. They have legions of fans who write them letters, buy them drinks, follow them home. And, most important, they sell movie tickets. Their films are often major hits, and the bigger the hit, the more money they make, and the more money they make, the more like stars they become. (x x) (template)
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Midnight Talk Show
Older Brother!Darry Curtis x Young Sister!Reader
Summary: It's been three days since Ponyboy and Johnny ran away. The stress is almost odorous, and you're having a tough time. Unable to sleep, you wander out to the couch in search of Darry. He's almost as worse off as you.
WC: 1.1k
Warnings: Language
Masterlist
Seventy-three hours.
Ponyboy and Johnny had been missing for seventy-three hours. None of your muscles had been able to fully relax since Darry first raised his voice. Your chest hadn't loosened since he'd raised a hand to Pony's cheek. Your sleep hadn't been restful since he flew right back out the door into the night. You weren't sure how much more this you could take.
Two-Bit had taken you on a long walk earlier today. Maybe it was to help clear your head, tire you out so you could rest. Maybe it was to inadvertently look for any sign of the missing boys. He'd even bought you a milkshake to lift your spirits. The only thing that rose was your blood sugar; you still remained as glum and scared as ever.
A part of you wanted to be angrier with Darry than you actually were. This was his fault, you rationalized. He yelled, he lashed out, he scared Pony off. But looking at the old man your twenty-year-old brother had become in the past seventy-three hours, you knew you couldn't. He couldn't handle any more.
You rolled over in your bed, wishing that your body would just give in. You were so tired; you needed rest. The clock taunted you, flashing the stupid time in your face. 11:42. You rolled back over the other way, but the numbers were engraved in your vision, even behind closed eyes.
Frustrated, you gathered your blanket around you and stumbled to your feet. The cold pine did nothing to reset your system, but that was okay. You didn't have much hope for that, anyways. What you wanted was in the living room. 'The Tonight Show' had just aired fifteen minutes ago, and Jack Paar's lulling, slightly nasally voice was exactly the sort of thing that would send you to sleep.
Your plans to curl up on the couch and listen were foiled by the old man leaning against one of the arms, forehead in his hand. You paused, observing his state. Darry looked like had hadn't slept in days. Hell, he probably hadn't. He stayed up to scold Pony when he fell asleep at the lot, and he'd gone out looking for his brother and friend every night sense. If he caught any sleep, it was probably while he waited for his coffee to brew so that he didn't have to sleep.
He never looked up at you. He kept his eyes closed and head down, as if he couldn't decide to let sleep or shame in first. But somehow, he knew you were there.
"It's late," he said simply. "You need to go to bed."
"I can't," you admitted. You tugged the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders.
"Why not?"
"Darry..."
He gave a great sigh. "Yeah, I figured. You wanna sit?"
You moved wordlessly over to the couch, pressing the bottoms of your feet against the unoccupied arm and laying your head on Darry's thigh. He didn't touch you otherwise.
"...Darry, I'm worried."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"...it's your fault, Darry."
Quieter: "I know, I'm sorry."
You sniffed. "Darry--"
"Please," he interrupted without malice. "Please don't say anymore. Just... just be quiet, okay? Please."
"I'm sorry, Darry." You swallowed. "I-- I'm sorry."
"Y/N--"
"I know you didn't mean for this to happen, and I know you're scared, and you're tired, and you want to get help but you can't, and I'm so sorry--" You cut yourself off with a sob. "I'm so sorry it's all happening."
Darry didn't cry, even though you could feel the uneven, hitching breaths in his stomach. He still wouldn't look at you. He didn't dare speak, on account of the knot in his throat. He did, however, let his free hand come to rest on your head, thumb gently stroking over your temple.
For a long while, nobody spoke. You just cried, and his shadow loomed over you. Neither of you were brave enough to speak. Not until well after midnight, long after your tears had stopped.
"...Darry?" You whispered, turning your head to look up at him.
"Yeah?" He croaked.
"...what are we going to do?"
He sniffed and lifted his head finally. He stared blankly into the kitchen. For a man feeling so many emotions, the only one he had enough energy to show was exhaustion.
"I don't know," he finally admitted. "We can't do nothing, but there isn't much we can do, either."
"Maybe... maybe they left," you suggested. "Got out of town. Maybe they're hiding in Collinsville, or something."
"If they're somewhere else, how would they get there?" He challenged. "They don't have a car. They're not stupid enough to hitchhike. They couldn't walk all the way to somewhere like Collinsville. They'd have to take a train, and they don't know jack about trains, either."
A thought formed in your head. Maybe the boys didn't know anything about trains, but if you were going to run from the law, you knew exactly who you'd go to.
"Darry, I think-- I think maybe if they did run away, they talked to Dally."
"Dally? Why would they--" He paused, realization settling in on his worn face. "Oh."
"Maybe he knows something. We should call him."
"...yeah." Darry rubbed his chin contemplatively. "We will. But you need rest. And I haven't slept in... what day is it?"
"Well, now it's Monday."
"...I can't do that math. I can't stay awake much longer. We'll call him tomorrow."
"What if tomorrow is too late?" You didn't want to ask, but you couldn't help it. All time is limited. Pony and Johnny's time was certainly pressured now, whether it was their time as free young men, or alive.
"Then I will handle Dally myself, so for his sake, he better hope it's not. For now--" He grunted, lifted your head off his lap. You could almost hear the creaking of his back as he stood up. "We need some rest. We can't do anything like this."
"I want to say here," you asserted. "I couldn't sleep in my room. I wanted to listen to Jack Paar."
Darry sighed. "All right. Just... just don't stay up all night."
"'kay, Darry. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
He stepped through to the kitchen, then hesitated. He turned around to look at you, wrapped up in your blanket. You looked so small. It reminded him that he still needed to take care of you and Sodapop. You were all younger, no matter how weathered this situation had made you all.
"...I don't think I've ever told you," he began slowly. "But I love you. All of you."
"I love you, too, Darry." You only whispered because you didn't want him to hear the ache in your throat. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
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